Not a Romantic
by whatanoddgirl
Summary: Professor Snape likes to think he had a hand in his godson's happiness. DracoPansy pairing, Snape's POV


-1I am not a romantic by any means. And understand this, before : I refuse to be referred to as such.

I am merely a practical, intelligent man who can see what is put before him like anyone else. Who knows what is put so obviously in front of him. Who refuses to let opportunities pass a young man in his prime right by, especially a young man who is my godson. I made a promise to his parents when he was born that I would protect and look after him, no matter what. I swore that I would see to it that he didn't pass up a single chance. Therefore, romantic or not, what sort of godfather would I be if I let him pass up the love of his life, a true chance at happiness and redemption?

I noticed they were meant for each other their very first day of school. It was obvious when they both snorted their stifled laughter at my insults towards Potter and looked at each other in shock from across the room-- at the exact same moments. She came up to him boldly as everyone was gathering their books to leave, and her long black pigtails contrasted perfectly with his pale blond hair. She put her hand straight out to shake his upon introduction, but he smirked and gently lifted her hand to his lips in an overly-apparent show of gentility. He was nothing if not well-bred.

After that day, I made sure to put them together for every and any project, even when they objected. I can't begin to count the number of times he'd begin to mutter under his breath about "My father hearing about this". Naturally, all I had to do was look at him for him to shut his spoiled little mouth. As the most frightening man to him next to his father, he didn't dare question my decisions out loud, much less really try to change my mind.

As they spoke more and more inside the classroom, I noticed them growing shyer and shyer of each other outside the classroom. During his first Quidditch game, she leaned over the railing until she almost fell into the pit. She cheered for him and jeered Potter until it seemed like her little second year throat would explode. But when he came off the field, she couldn't even look him in the eye. Naturally, he attributed this to her disappointment in him as a Seeker, rather than being utterly terrified of his rejection. He hid in his room all day until I myself had to go and practically drag him out.

During their third year, she stayed with him in the hospital ward after the incident with that Hippogryff, despite the fact that he was obviously fine. I never once came to scold him for his whiny behavior, though-- if it made them spend time in each other's presence, who was I to question?

Then, their fourth year, a miracle happened. He visited me in my office one day, close to the Yule Ball, seeking my advice as he so often did. However, this time it had nothing to do with his father or other classes, or taking revenge on someone. No, the advice he so desperately needed, the problem that made him flustered and paler was about a girl. I helped him as best I could, though I admit I didn't know how well he'd use the advice of a middle-aged, single Potions master.

It was during the Yule Ball, I believe, that they admitted their attraction and decided to see it through. It was bliss for almost a full year, with passing "secret" notes during class and sneaking out to kiss after curfew. I never took action as their Head of House against such things, though I maintain that I would have for any other couple. However, it was not long before trouble began.

Fifth year was their first "lover's spat". She'd seen him feeding a chocolate frog to a Ravenclaw girl. A little thing, really. But a force to be reckoned with was a lover's spat between two Slytherins. I half-expected an Avada Kedevra to come coursing through my classroom, more than once. But I refused to separate them for class work. Even if it meant melting cauldrons, explosions and temporary blindness for a decent percentage of the students. If they weren't forced to speak, they'd let this soak into their hearts and poison their love forever. They made up before long, and he took a Wizard's Oath to stay faithful. I like to think I helped.

Then, the year that changed everything for the boy. The year he was forced the grow up and face the challenges placed before him. I helped, of course, as much as I could-- I sacrificed more than I would have liked for that boy-- but that couldn't save him and I from having to live in exile after all was said and done. For five months, we lived in what was practically a shack, living off little more than bread and water. He didn't stop whining for more than a few seconds at a time. Luckily, after about three months the crying stopped. But what came after that was worse. A different style of despair. A quiet, resigned despair where he sat looking out his tiny window, waiting for a sign that she hadn't forgotten him and she was waiting. I couldn't take it anymore, watching him waste away to nothing. His eyes lit up when I told him I'd allow him ONE trip--only ONE!-- to see her for twenty minutes, say what he needed to, and come back. I would, of course accompany him. We'd travel by broom, under an invisibility cloak ("You had one all the time!" he cursed me, when he found out.). It was dangerous, but then, so was having him starve to death out of heartache.

When we arrived at Miss Parkinson's window, I left him alone, while watching from a safe distance. He appeared only as a tall shadow. A tall shadow with an air of desperation, pounding on the window until a shorter, smaller shadow appeared before him.

A smirk came across my lips as I witnessed the shorter shadow throw itself into the taller one's arms, then the taller one kneel down and pull a box out of its pocket. The short shadow jumped a little then pulled the other back up, kissing him passionately. The answer was clear.

I am not a romantic. I'm just a Potions professor who refused to see his godson and favorite student lose his soul mate.


End file.
